Kisses & Promises
by Lots-of-Little-Pink-Clouds
Summary: For praseodymium's Choose-Your-Wand Challenge. His kisses are soft and brief, tender and warm. With his kisses, he promises her a future. / Her kisses touch cold skin, her lips gentle and warm and wet from her tears. He was her everything. But now, he is gone.


**A/N:** My second entry to **praseodymium's (formerly known as Coruscanti Clover) "Choose-Your-Wand Challenge"**. Sorry for submitting so late – lost my inspiration cause of work and school. Plus I don't normally write romance; the only one I have is slow going and there are a tons of kinks to be worked out of it (at least in my opinion).

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

 **Title:** Kisses & Promises

 **Rating:** K

 **Pairing:** Theodore Nott/Hermione Granger

 **Summary:** His kisses are soft and brief, tender and warm. With his kisses, he promises her a future. / Her kisses touch cold skin, her lips gentle and warm and wet from her tears. He was her everything. But now, he is gone.

 **Prompt:** Dragon heartstring (write a het pairing)

 **Warning(s):** Does death and despair count as a warning?

* * *

 **Kisses & Promises**

He holds her close, his hands on her hips, his lips against her throat. Together, at the top of the astronomy tower, he points to the stars and tells her about them. He speaks softly; the wind is still on this warm summer night, the glow of fireflies that surround them and the stars above their only light. Between words, he kisses her; her cheek, her neck, her jaw, anywhere that he can reach.

His kisses are soft and brief, tender and warm.

With his kisses, he promises her a future.

A future together, away from the war and all the suffering. He promises her that they'll run away together, to Italy, or France, or Canada; anywhere away from Britain so that his pureblood extremist father can't find them. He promises her a life of simplicity, of love, of warm summer nights just like this one, where the only thing that could witness their union were the fireflies and the stars.

He promises her that things will get better, that the war would be put behind them. That they could live peacefully, perhaps own a bookstore, maybe have children and start a family.

He promises her that she is his everything.

She never doubted him in that.

* * *

She holds him close, her arms encircling his head, her hands on his jaw, her lips against his forehead as tears stream down her face. They're in the Great Hall; Madam Pomfrey was bustling around, trying to get to everyone she could. There is crying, moans of pain, but everything dims and disappears; the only thing that matters to her right now is him. She speaks softly, whispering into his ear words of comfort and reassurance, her hand stroking his cold cheek. Between words, she kisses him; his cheek, his forehead, his jaw, anywhere that she can reach.

Her kisses touch cold skin, her lips gentle and warm and wet from her tears.

With her kisses she promises him her future.

She isn't sure what to do anymore – they were supposed to have a future together, away from the war, away from the suffering. They were supposed to run away together, away from Britain and his pureblood extremist father who would never accept her. They were supposed to live in simplicity, with love, warm summer nights, the fireflies and the stars.

They were supposed to put the war behind them. They were going to own a bookstore, they were supposed to have children and start a family.

He was her everything.

But now, he is gone.

She doubts herself – what is she supposed to do? How is she supposed to live without him?

When Ron finds her, he puts a hand on her shoulder, gently pulling her away. She follows him, uncaring, unseeing, except for the rage burning in her heart. The rage at his father, for getting him involved. The rage at Voldemort, for starting this conflict. The rage at this war, for taking him away from her.

With anger and sorrow in her soul, she walks back onto the battlefield, head held high and eyes red from crying. She walks back onto the battlefield, urgency in her step and pain in her heart.

She walks back onto the battlefield with nothing left to lose.

Maybe she will join him. Maybe she will survive.

Either way, there is nothing left for her here.


End file.
